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POETRY    1 - 2 - 3 - 4

POETRY    1 - 2 - 3 - 4

Leant against the railings.


Leant against the railings.

Body cracking in the wind;

Body cracked, opening --


Further along

The impenetrable roads,

Among flickering shadows,

A huge shape, shifting,

To the right, the left.



What to do, how best proceed,

Became the here And end all.


They dragged them, kicking and screaming into the open.

A moment of truth, gunshots echoed through the forests.

In the dead up-beat, a startled flight of birds.


Outside in the cold rain, a cold voice Is talking.

Endlessly turning, torn

On the horns of each thesis

And antithesis,

They’re skimming stones into the sound.


They’re gathering the dust of the days.

They’re talking on and on,

Clatter-talk, shop-talk, pep-talk;

On and on...



They’re talking.

Their speech reaching out,

Over and above that voice,

Reaching out into the greyest of dawns,

Where someone else dictates;

Well not ‘someone’ else,

Exactly, it is some

Thing else.


As things, merging,

Spill Into one an-other.



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